


ours is a stormy kind of love

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: The Mindy Project
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:04:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mindy and Danny talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ours is a stormy kind of love

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right after the season 2 finale. Just a little slice.

* * *

 

 

 

_**You know I got black eyes** _   
_**But they burn so brightly for her** _   
_**This is a blind kind of love** _   
_**  
** _

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The dimpled base of the beer bottle makes a disturbingly loud sound as he slides it against the counter and into her awaiting hand.

 

“I didn’t stay.” He says again.

 

“I heard you.”

 

She glides the bottle over the flat surface in wide circles along the expanse of it, looking at him as if she’s studying him, trying to figure him out. Her eyes are narrowed slightly, but not accusatory. It isn’t an expression he’s ever seen her exhibit, and while it makes him uneasy, the fact of not knowing, he stares back in solemn acceptance of whatever she has to say.

 

The leftovers of the Chinese food they picked up on the way back from The Empire State Building sits in open containers beside empty bottles of beer already consumed. His sleeves are rolled up, his jacket discarded, and she’s changed into soft, cotton pajamas. Her hair is piled up on her head in a loose bun, she’s washed her face clear of make up and the time for confession has come.

 

She rakes in a breath and resolutely brings the bottle to her lips, dragging a large gulp of light ale into her mouth. It goes down easily, but the bubbling sting that passes down her throat like static braves her. She blinks up at Danny, firmly staring back, expectant. “I came.” She says, her stare hardening, her grip tightening around the bottle. “ _I_ came, Danny.”

 

“I know, I know—“ He rubs his palm across his face, stares at her again, he has no excuse.

 

“You asked me to come, and I gave you another chance, and you left?”

 

“But I came back!” He tells her, angrily drinks beer, the mouth of the bottle clanking against his teeth. But he isn’t angry with her. He’s angry with himself. For not having a better explanation than this.

 

She knows this somehow, she can read him like a book and it’s slightly unfortunate because she sees him brutally go to the bottle and instant concern for his mouth chips her resolve to verbally bash him. “Danny, be careful with that, Jesus.”

 

He sets the bottle down and steps back, glancing up at her from across the counter. Somewhere, he finds his voice again, and it’s gruff when he says, “I was scared.” It isn’t an easy admission to make, but it’s different now, _she’s_ different and she deserves truth. He owes it to her. “I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself if I waited and you didn’t come, Mindy. If I waited—I’d have to KNOW that you didn’t come, and if I left and I didn’t stand there, alone with my thoughts, in a place that’s got you written all over it, I wouldn’t have to feel it all at once. I could deal with you not wanting me, because I deserved it, but I couldn’t deal with having you ripped form me, and that’s what that would have felt like. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what it felt like. I couldn’t breathe up there, knowing there was a chance I’d blown it. Me. It was my fault. And I had to get out. And it’s not an excuse, I won’t say that. But I am sorry. And I did come back.”

 

“You ran across the city for me.” She adds, hiding an inevitable smirk behind her beer as she drinks, then swallows, averting her gaze momentarily, glancing at the carton boxes of food.

 

He smiles. “Yeah. I did. I got hit by a cab, for god’s sake, and I still came—“ Her eyes shoot up at him, “—that should count for something, shouldn’t it?”

 

“You got hit by a cab?” She clumsily drops the bottle on the counter in her rush to him. The bottle tips over and the remains of begin to spill before Danny quickly grabs a nearby dishtowel and saves the mess. Her hands are already working at him, touching his side gingerly, single minded and blithely unaware of the muddle she’s left. “Let me see. Are you hurt?”

 

He’s still wiping the counter, forcing her to stand helplessly behind him with her hands on his hips.

 

“I’m fine. Just a little sore.”

 

She presses her forehead between his shoulder blades, closes her eyes, and heaves a sigh before circling her arms about his waist, gently, as to not hurt him, just in case. He stills suddenly, swallowing harshly when the tickle of her breath against his skin through the barrier of his shirt makes him shiver. He drops the towel, lays his hand over her hands, which are linked at his stomach, and smiles. “I’m okay. I promise. I’m a doctor.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” She says, her voice muffled against his back. “How could you get hit by a cab? Don’t ever do that again. I’ll kill you.”

 

“Okay, I won’t.”

 

“And you won’t ruin this.”

 

At first, it sounds like a threat, but as the words linger around them, bouncing off the walls of her apartment, he realizes that she’s reassuring him. He bows his head, his chin dropping to his chest, bringing his other hand to rest upon her own.

 

“Danny, you won’t ruin this. I love you.”

 

He makes an attempt to turn around in her arms then, but she mumbles a “No” and holds him tighter, breathing against him, pressing her lips to him.

 

“Hey,” he says, running his palm along her arm, “Let me look at you.” After some strain, he pulls free of her and turns to face her, except she won’t look up at him. She sniffles and he fears the worst instantly. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

 

She shakes her head but doesn’t reply.

 

“Min, what’s wrong? Look at me.”

 

When she finally does, she’s crying. He couldn’t feel more like a bastard.

 

“What if something had happened to you?” She demands, shoving at his chest with her hand. “What if something had happened to you and I had been left up there alone like Cary Grant? What if something—had _happened_?” Her voice cracks as she bats at his chest again.

 

He pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. “I’m fine.” He tells her again, kissing the top of her hair and staying there, inhaling and exhaling as if he’ll somehow absorb her and it’ll be the way he feels—as if she fills him. “I’m here, I’m fine.”

 

“You are not allowed to leave me again. I can’t do that anymore. If you leave me again—“

 

“I won’t.” he pulls back and holds her face in his hands, trying to convert everything he’s thinking, everything he feels, and all he hopes he can one day verbalize for her into this look.

 

“—if you leave me, Danny, you won’t get me back.” She ends, her voice stern and determined even through the tears and worry still rimming her eyes. “I don’t care how hard it gets, this is it for me. Okay?”

 

He wants to make promises of forever, wants to apologize over and over, tell her he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to her, but words seem so generic when everything he knows about the way he loves her has no description, no palpable expression or accurate reality. It’s viciously alarming, the way he’s willing to let go of all his fears and convictions . Because that was all he had before. It was all that composed him. And now, there she stands, this person that wants nothing except love him. He can feel it, she radiates it. He could drown in it.

 

He kisses her, holding her so tightly that she tilts her head back and grunts  against him, exhaling hotly against his cheek as she angles herself to the right and opens her mouth wider, her tongue slipping sensually against his own, over the roof of his mouth, while her hand tangles in his hair and tugs at it.

 

He cradles the back of her head with one hand and holds her body to his own with the other, his arm wrapped possessively around her, his fingers digging into her, fisting into her shirt, pulling the worn out cotton, hearing it rip somewhere at the seams.

 

He isn’t much for words, but he will be better soon.

 

She moans against him, arches into him, understanding as she’ll ever understand anything in her life, that this man loves her. More intensely than she was even aware of. The realization is thick and suffocating and she pulls away suddenly, heaving puffs of air at his chest as he does the same to her hair, resting his chin against her forehead.

 

Her hands slide up his chest and round about his neck. She kisses the side of his neck, where she can feel his pulse, erratic as his breathing is harsh. Her fingers dance along his nape, and his embrace softens, holding her rather than gripping her to him.

 

“I’m sorry.” He says into her shoulder, kissing it, then simply pressing his mouth there, breathing against her until she feels the heat of him relax her.

 

She knows, as well as she knows he’ll be staying the night, that she forgives him. “I know.”

 

It’s no poetic admission, no promise of forever. But all that seems so meek and bland, the way most lovers feel about each other perhaps, that no one has ever loved before them and no one will ever love so passionately. Sometimes, it’s okay to feel that way, to be selfish and block out the world for the sake of this.

 

Sometimes it is just that simple, and just that complicated.

 

 


End file.
